


Keep These Secrets In A Lie

by quillsand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, Nightmares, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillsand/pseuds/quillsand
Summary: Ron believes in love, and he also believes in all the things that his parents taught him- commitment, hard-work, and bringing the best out in each other. Love is supposed to lead to all those things, but in the case of him and Hermione, it only led to pain.They're still friends, of course, but they don't exactly act like friends do. Friends don't look at each other the way Ron and Hermione look at each other. Friends don't care for each other the way Ron and Hermione care for each other. And friends definitely,definitelydo not kiss each other the way Ron and Hermione kiss each other.





	1. Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So it's been a while but here I am, back writing for the Harry Potter fandom with this monster of a fic :''''')
> 
> This was something I started working on in December 2015 and kind of... Abandoned? I found it hanging about with the rest of my unfinished WIP's the other day and was shocked to find I'd written 27k in this verse! And obviously I couldn't just leave all that to wither and grow old, so I'm deciding to publish! Since it seems I'd planned the original fic to be even longer, I've cut a few side plots and tidbits out so that it functions as a reasonably decent work as it is- without me having to write copious amounts in order to complete it! 
> 
> I'll still have to edit parts, obviously, because I was 15 when I started writing this (!) but hopefully all three parts will be up by the end of the summer. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“So,” Hermione says after a slight drop in the conversation. “Are we… Are we going out tomorrow?”

Ron looks up, startled. Hermione's suggestion surprises him. (Although he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it- he's just shocked she actually went ahead and asked.)

They're not dating. Not really. Sometimes he thinks they might as well be, with the way they act around each other, but then he remembers what a mess they were before and decides it's better this way. Easier.

For months now there's been an invisible line that they don't cross. They don't talk about it, they don't acknowledge it, they don't put a name on it- it's just there.

Ron's not sure, but something's telling him that a date on Valentine's day is dangerously close to crossing that line.

“Do you… want to?” He asks tentatively, thinking there's probably a better response he could give her.

He doesn't want to break things between them before they've even had a chance to build them back up.

Hermione bites her lip. “Sure.” She says it in an offhand manner but Ron knows her too well to take it at face value. Hermione’s gotten better at hiding her emotions from him, but he can still see through her mask- most of the time. It makes his chest hurt to remember a time when she didn’t have to put a mask on at all in front of him, a time when he had her complete and absolute trust. Still- things change, and it’s no secret that he doesn’t know her nearly as well as he used to- as well as he should.

“Good.” Ron says, and then, feeling that he's being too dismissive, “I’d like that, yeah.”

Hermione offers a sad sort of smile. He doesn’t think she means it to be sad but that’s what it looks like. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time, and he knows he should be grateful that she’s willing to let him see it, but he can’t bring himself to be.

It’s strange, but it’s almost like he doesn’t want her trust. She spent too long putting herself back together for him to come and tear her apart again. It’s not fair, Ron reasons with himself. It’s not fair to her.

_Then why are you still here?_  Pipes up the other little voice he’s all too used to hearing- the one that feeds off of his selfishness. _It’s not like you didn’t get hurt either_ , the voice argues, and Ron, who never really could stand up to his inner demons, has to admit that it's got a point.

Their relationship was a trainwreck from start to finish. Sure, they loved each other, and sure, the sex was amazing, but it came to a point where their being together just wasn’t helping anybody, least of all themselves. It was Hermione, who had whispered it whilst drunk one night on their sofa: ‘Maybe love just isn’t enough’. And Ron- Ron in his anger and his inebriated state- had agreed with her.

The next morning she was gone.

They're still friends of course. Ron can’t imagine them ever not being friends. But it's different now. It's a constant struggle to stay away from her- don’t get too close, don’t get too involved- whilst also being near her.

Sometimes, Ron thinks how he feels about Hermione is all or nothing. (Except he could never feel nothing for her, he's kidding himself if he thinks he could ever feel nothing for her). Being her friend, and just her friend, is like waiting to catch a train that’s never coming.  
  
Although if Ron is being completely honest with himself (which he only does alone, at night) he and Hermione really aren’t only just friends. Just friends don’t act like Ron and Hermione act towards each other. There isn’t really a label for how they act towards each other but ‘friends’ is definitely safer than anything else.  
  
“I was thinking, maybe _Via Verde_? You know that little italian place around the corner?” Hermione watches his reaction nervously.

_Via Verde_. That had been their regular restaurant when they were dating. Ron notices the casual way in which she mentions the place, acting as if it doesn't bear any great significance to their relationship and decides to play along.

“Yeah. That sounds cool.” Truth is, he’s never been a big fan of italian food, but knowing of Hermione’s complete perchance for it, he’d never actually said anything.

Besides, there's always the pizza he can go for.

“Great.” Hermione smoothes down her skirt and flashes him that slightly unsure, yet determined smile. “Great. How’s 7 'o clock sound?”

Ron startles again. He had been under the impression that hers had been a spontaneous offer, born of not wanting to be alone on Valentine’s day, but Hermione seems to know exactly what she wants. Ron can't help but wonder if it means something.

His conscience is telling him not to push it, to accept it, distances be damned. But the other side, the more insistent side, needs to know just what her intentions are.

“Sounds great. Have you… You haven’t been planning this, have you?” The regret he feels for asking is imminent. He knows straight away that he should have just gone with it, smiled along like they always do with these kind of things.

He feels like he's walking all over their carefully constructed line, breaking boundaries, asking questions. They've been in a very strict rhythm lately, but now Ron has stepped out of time.

They don't talk about it- and they definitely never ask questions about it.

But Ron just did.

“No,” Maybe it's Ron, but she appears slightly offended by the insinuation, “I’ve been thinking about it, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘planning’.” And then, as if it were completely necessary to remind him she adds, “We’re not dating.”

“I know that!” His tone comes out more indignant than he’d meant it to but Ron can’t exactly bring himself to care. “I wasn’t accusing you of…” but he trails off, unable to think of a satisfactory way to end that sentence.

Hermione raises her eyebrows like she expects him to go on. He sighs, “Look, we tried being, well, _‘us’_ okay? And it didn’t work. I’m aware of that, trust me.”

Hermione purses her lips together. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ron asks in confusion. What was 'okay' supposed to mean?

Now Hermione seems genuinely angry, "Yes, Ron- Okay. We didn't work, and we still don't. No one is debating that fact. Do you want to go out on Friday or not?"

Resisting the urge to push the point even further, Ron gathers all that is left of his pride and gives her a taut smile. "I would, yeah."

Hermione nods satisfactorily and there's a small moment of pause, like she's waiting for something. The moment passes as quickly as it came, and Hermione smiles at him in a way that almost seems to say ' _sorry_ '.

He smiles back, and before he knows it they're back to talking about work and the new weird sisters album, and a range of other things that doesn't require either of them to think about the past- or each other.

It marks the first day that they've actually addressed the issue that Ron has come to refer to in his head as 'it', although looking back, Ron realises that maybe not that much was actually said after all.

 

* * *

 

Harry asks him if he has any plans for Valentine's day the next day at work and Ron doesn't know why he hesitates so long before saying yes.

Harry frowns, "Yeah? Who is it then?"

Now Ron takes even longer to answer, because he really doesn't need Harry's judgement on top of his own. "Hermione."

Harry's shocked, Ron can see Harry's shocked, but true to form, his composure is regained almost instantly. "Really? You two are dating again?" There's a tone of incredulity to his voice that almost makes Ron cringe.

For a moment, Ron wants nothing more than to answer _'yes'_ to Harry's question, but it passes instantly, leaving a trail of guilt in it's wake. "Err...No. No, it's not like that."

Harry raises an eyebrow and Ron can't tell if his best friend is angry or amused. He's not sure which one he'd prefer, but either way he can tell it's going to take some convincing.

"Honestly, it's not. We're just friends. We're just going out and having a meal. As friends. That's it."

Harry still looks skeptical, and Ron, well, Ron can't really blame him since he was also skeptical at first. (He still is skeptical if he were being truthful, but he pushes the niggling doubt to the back of his mind.)

"Where are you two going?" Harry asks, innocently enough, but Ron knows the insinuation is anything less than innocent.

"Err... The little Italian around the corner? You know, the place we-"

"The place you two used to go. When you were dating."

"Well... Yeah."

"But now you're going... just as friends?"

Ron's expression says everything Harry needs and he leans back against his desk in victory. Ron wants nothing more than to punch the smug expression from Harry's face, because really, what him and Hermione do or don't do is none of Harry's business anyway.

Ron is just about to open his mouth and tell him so when Harry speaks again: "Just remember what happened last time you and Hermione got too close okay?"

Harry's words aren't an insult, but Ron feels insulted all the same. "Haven't forgotten yet, mate."

Harry sighs and moves his hand to rub along his jaw, something he only does when frustrated or agitated. "Look, I just don't want either of you getting hurt again okay? And this- this whatever the hell it is you two have arranged for Friday- doesn't seem like the best way to prevent that."

"Bloody hell." Ron mutters, rolling his eyes. "Harry, listen. I know what I'm doing, and Hermione is nothing if not cautious. We'll be fine alright? Just friends, remember?"

But Harry remains thoroughly unconvinced throughout the day, telling Ron to ' _be careful'_ and _'don't fuck it up.'_ Ron leaves the office feeling thoroughly disgruntled, because if he can't even convince Harry that him and Hermione are just friends, how on earth is he supposed to convince himself?

 

* * *

 

 

It's been awhile since their _'date'_ on Valentine's day, but Ron still feels an ache whenever he looks at her. There's really no reason for it, either, but perhaps that's the most frustrating thing of all.

Going out for a romantic meal on Valentine's day isn't something a lot of friends do, and Ron's well aware of that. But it's different with him and Hermione. (He's pretty sure it's always been different with them.)

Maybe it's because it reminded him so clearly of the time they'd been a couple. Sure, they were messed up, but they were alright, weren't they? They had a few good times, didn't they?

_Sure they did_ , he rationalises, _doesn't mean it outweighs the bad though._

Hermione smiles as she enters his flat. Hanging her coat up with Ron's on the stand, she flops down next to him on the sofa.

Ron chuckles gently, "Long day?"

Hermione makes a noise in the back of her throat that Ron takes to mean 'yes' and rests her head on the back of the sofa, exposing her neck as she does so. Ron can almost _feel_  his ears heating up, so he turns away from her to cover it up.

"Er- shall I make tea?"

Hermione brings her head back up to look at him and nods slowly. "Tea would be nice. Thanks."

He goes about making tea, thinking as he does so, about how weird this all seems now.

It's been their routine for a while. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Hermione comes back to his flat after work and they talk. (About what, it doesn't really matter- it's just something they do.) Sometimes they'll play chess, or Hermione will read whilst Ron writes up his reports, but mostly they just talk.

Their friends and family find it weird, but for Ron, it's always felt completely natural.

He looks back to Hermione, sitting on his sofa, curled up with a pillow. She looks exhausted, and he thinks, like he does everytime she comes over, that she's working herself too hard. Not that it's his place to say of course. Not anymore.

They make a point of staying out of each other's business.

Ron misses the days when they could talk about anything without burden, but now so many topics feel like they carry the weight of the world, and Ron wouldn't even dare approach them.

Sometimes, he wishes they could just go back to being young and stupid and in love.

Sometimes, he misses loving Hermione.

Sometimes, he thinks about them getting back together.

Ron believes in love, and he also believes in all the things that his parents taught him- commitment and hard-work and bringing the best out in each other. Love is supposed to lead to all those things, but in the case of him and Hermione it only led to pain.

Maybe the version of their relationship that lives inside his head is a lot brighter than it was in real life. Maybe the Hermione and Ron he's created from mismatched memories have a lot less problems than their real life counterparts.

Nostalgia isn't really something he can trust.

The problem with this, of course, is that he doesn't know whether he misses being with Hermione, or if he just misses the idea of being with Hermione, the memories of being with her.

So in the end, Ron bottles up his rebellious emotions and brings Hermione her tea, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they'll be in the clear soon.

 

* * *

 

 

"How was your date?" Harry asks the following week when they're both back in the office.

"Piss off, will you?" Ron quips back with no real malice behind the words.

Harry just smirks at him, and whilst Ron loves Harry like one of his own brothers, sometimes he can't stand the git.

"Nothing happened." He says instead of telling Harry this, wondering why he felt the need to clarify it at all.

"Oh?" says Harry, and Ron can't tell whether that's genuine surprise on his face or just a display to get Ron to spill.

What Harry sometimes forgets is that Ron knows how interrogations work too. He attended all the same lectures Harry did, witnessed all the same examples, even questioned the same suspects; he knows the drill and he knows when his best friend is trying to get something out of him because if it.

So Ron ignores Harry's one word questions, focusing on the pile of paperwork in front of him.

Eventually Harry gives up; Ron hears him sigh and resign himself to the task of filling in a report of their latest mission. It's a while before either of them speak again.

"Just- if you ever need to talk about it, I, well, I'm here, alright?"

Ron looks up from where sentences are starting to blur together on his desk.

Him and Harry don't really have moments like this- it's not their style. Maybe it's the unspoken agreement that they'll always be there for each other, no matter what, but they almost never verbalise it.

It's pretty much a given that if he ever needed to talk, Harry would be more than willing to listen.

Which is why he only smiles, throat tight, and says, "Yeah, thanks."

 

* * *

 

It's his birthday, yet somehow Ron feels like he should be happier than he is. After all, turning twenty-three isn't something that happens everyday.

Something feels different this year though. He's not sure what, and he's certainly not sure why, but it's something.

Hermione maybe senses it too, because she doesn't stick around for long once she's dropped off his gift.

(She'd gotten him desk tidy that's shaped like a knight from a chess set for his office, and a model sized broomstick made out of chocolate.

"You mean I can _eat_  this?" he'd said when she'd presented it to him, looking at the object in his hand with glee.

Her laughter still rings in his ears almost two hours later.)

Ron knows she feels uncomfortable around his family. Even though they've assured her many times that she's basically a daughter to them, he knows she still finds it awkward.

Her and Ginny are still best friends- that, at least, hasn't changed. Ron's not sure what the hell they talk about most of the time, but he's aware that Ginny, too, has tried to convince Hermione that she's always welcome in the Weasley household.

Ron understands though, really. He can't even imagine being in the same room as her parents now that he's not with Hermione. Makes his spine tingle just thinking about it, so he can't really blame her.

He just longs for the days when they used to spend his birthdays together, as a couple.

He tries to ignore the pang in his chest when she leans in to kiss him on the cheek. All too soon she's out of his door and Ron doesn't really know what to do with himself. They'd spent his last three birthdays as just the two of them, but Ron marks those particular memories off as 'no go territory' and tries to focus on the moment.

Ginny taps him on the shoulder, as if she knows where his mind's been moments prior. "Having fun?" she asks in that knowing way of hers, and it's all Ron can do not to let loose the expletives he's holding in. (After all, his mother is only an earshot away, and he doesn't feel like getting yelled at like a child on his twenty third birthday, thank you very much.)

Ginny shrugs and walks away, leaving Ron to ponder over his inner turmoil. He's surrounded by his family and friends. You should be happy, he tells himself. So what if she's not here? He surely can't have forgotten how to have a good time without her?

Reaching for another firewhiskey from the dining table in front of him, Ron decides that today is going to be a totally Hermione-free day. He's not even going to think about her, because this is his birthday, and if anything should be his and only his, it should be his birthday.

He feels slightly ashamed of himself for it though, Hermione hasn't done anything wrong, or, at least, nothing worthy enough to earn her a lockout from Ron's thoughts.

He shakes the thought away as it comes, trains his ears to pick out George's voice, and makes his way over to where the loudest area of the party will most likely be.

He's going to have a bloody good time tonight, whether Hermione's here with him or not.  
  


* * *

 

 

"You're delirious."

"Ah, but am I?"

"Yes."

"C'mon Hermione, you know I'm right. Admit it."

"I know you're delirious, I'll admit that."

Ron laughs, shaking his head and smiling across at Hermione who is sat opposite him.

They've been discussing his head of department, a tough bloke called Bawtry who likes making Ron run laps around the track when he forgets to hand in assignments.

"There's more chance of the Cannons winning a match than him retiring." Hermione says, ribbing at him.

"Oi! Leave the Cannons out of this, would you?" Ron feigns indignancy, although he isn't the least bit offended by her words.

Hermione laughs, bringing her mug of tea to her lips and sipping slowly. They're curled up like two cats on her sofa, knees touching, hands both nursing mugs of tea.

It feels unbelievably normal to just be with her like this, where there's no pressure and no strain. For a moment he can pretend that they're just two friends sat chatting and playfully teasing each other.

Only- they're not. Because when Hermione's leg rubs against his, there's nothing innocent in the gesture. Because when he teases her about going on more dates, there's a suggestive tone underneath. Because when it's time to get up and leave, there's a hug that lasts just a touch too long.

He wonders if this is what happens when two people try distinctively hard not to love each other.

 

* * *

 

 

Being an Auror is exhausting. It's not just the job either, it's the memories that it seems to pull out of his mind, out of the boxes he's hidden them in.

There are cases, sometimes, too gruesome to remember, too sad to forget. And Ron doesn't know how he does it.

He's always wanted to be an Auror. Ever since his dad used to come home from work and tell him stories about the 'dark wizard catchers' that his eight year old self would listen to attentively, all wide eyed and and eager to hear more. He's always wanted to be an auror.

Only... Only now he's not so sure. It's strange because... He's never felt like he would want to do anything else, job-wise. Sure, he's thought about other things but nothing that's both realistic and within his abilities.

It's not like it's worth thinking about anyway. It's him and Harry, always has been, and until recently, Ron had assumed that it always would be. He can't do that to his best friend. They're a team, hardly ever a case goes by that they don't work on together.

At first it was easy to dismiss. A thought that crept into his mind when he was off guard, compromised; in the darkest hours of the night or after a particularly exhausting day.

But, like all thoughts you try to repress do- it grew. And grew and grew and grew. And Ron's not sure how much longer he can keep up this facade of being okay.

There's only one person who knows of the doubt that rests and feeds in the back of his mind, only one person he's trusted enough to tell.

Hermione.

His feet find their way to her door almost automatically, his hand performing the routine of knocking three times in quick succession.

It takes her a second, but when Hermione's face appears through the crack in the door he feels a little less alone. A little less lost.

"Ron, hi." she says, unlocking the door and letting him inside. "What are you doing here?"

Ron's not sure he's capable of speaking the words he wants to say, so instead he just shrugs. Runs a hand through his hair. Shuffles from foot to foot.

Hermione's expression is understanding- too understanding for Ron's liking but even he has to admit that it helps.

"Bad day." He says, hating how raspy and weak his voice sounds.

Hermione nods, closes the short distance between them and takes his shaking hands in her own still ones. Slowly, she leads him to the couch and he sits down when she insists.

His hands are still shaking. Ron hates it when his hands shake. It only happens after particularly bad nightmares or tough cases, but once it starts it feels like it'll never stop. What's worse is he feels like he can't make it stop. He has no control over his own fucking hands and he hates it.

He feels the sofa dip as Hermione sits down next to him. "You're okay now." she says, and Ron tries to focus on her voice to distract himself.

He finds himself nodding along to her reassurances even though he doesn't believe any of them. It feels like there's too much air in his body. He needs to breathe.

"That's it Ron. Just breathe." Hermione's voice guides him, and her hands pull him closer to her until his head is resting on her shoulder.

when he feels moderately less like his heart is going to burst through his ribcage and out of his body, he draws back from her.

Hermione waits a second before she asks him, "Are you feeling better?"

Ron doesn't look at her face because he knows there will be pity displayed there. So he just nods and busies his hands by playing with the fastenings on his robes.

"I'll make us some tea, okay?"

Ron nods again, even though she doesn't really need the affirmation. She knows him well enough to know what calms him down. This is just another step in their routine.

She comes back with the tea and lays it in front of Ron. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asks softly, taking his hand in hers again.

Ron clears his throat before speaking, scared it'll come out croaky. "Yeah actually... Could you just- could you just, like, talk for a little while? Just your voice. That'd be... That'd be... Yeah."

He doesn't know why he asks really. She probably would have done anyway. They've done this enough times by now.

"Of course." Hermione replies, all tender and caring, just as Ron knew she'd be. "Anything."

Hermione begins speaking, telling him about her day at work (how her boss mixed up the cases so she accidentally got landed with the wrong task for most of the morning,) and the latest book she's reading (a dystopian thriller called _'The Hogfather'_ which sounds rather absurd to Ron but Hermione seems to find thrilling,) and reminiscing on their Hogwarts days ('Remember that time Harry dared you to jump into the black lake and you almost did?')

Ron doesn't say much in reply. He's content listening to the beautiful hum of her voice as she speaks animatedly about her passions, only giving the occasional laugh or murmur of agreement.

But he thinks, right now, this moment is wonderfully simple. He knows he'll have to leave soon- go back home, go to bed, go back to work, repeat- but right now he can almost forget all of that.

Because that's what being with Hermione feels like. It's a different type of getting lost to the uncertainty of being in the Aurors. With Hermione, Ron would rather stay lost than to ever resurface again.

With Hermione, Ron almost feels okay.

 

* * *

 

Their first argument after they've broken up happens because of her job.

They've had disagreements, of course they have. It's hard to be around someone constantly and not have them get on your nerves from time to time.

But this is different.

Frankly, he doesn't think Hermione should be working as much as she does. It can't be good for her health, all the long hours she works.

And one day, when she comes into his flat, exhausted, (as usual,) he tells her. It's a simple statement really, "Maybe you should work shorter hours."

However, Hermione is immediately on the defensive, "I'm perfectly capable, Ron." she says, folding her arms. Which, frankly, he thinks is a lie.

It's like third year all over again, when she'd bitten off more than she could chew and instead of taking smaller bites, had insisted on chewing until she'd almost choked.

Only this time- it's unnecessary. Her boss is perfectly reasonable, Ron knows her boss and he's an alright sort of bloke. Definitely not the type to promote overworking.

He tells her so, but Hermione isn't having it. "I have to work hard if I want to advance," she states, "That's how it works. You put in the work, and you move up the ranks. Simple."

Ron has no idea why she's so ruffled, but he's starting to get tired of her patronising tone. Besides, Hermione has enough going for her without having to invest so much of her spare time to get in people's good books. "You'll overwork yourself," he warns, "Then you'll be no use to anyone."

As soon as he says it, he knows he's struck a nerve.

Hermione's body tenses, and he can almost see her brain whizzing as she changes tactics.

"At any rate, it's not really your concern." she bites with venom.

"Of course it's my concern. We're friends aren't we?"

Hermione makes a _'hmmmph'_ sound and purses her lips. "Yes. But being my friend doesn't grant you control over my life."

Ron gapes, "What? I'm not trying to- Hermione, that's not what I said at all!"

"It was near enough."

"It really wasn't."

"You always do this! You're constantly telling me to take a break! I don't need a break, Ron! I'm fine!" Hermione's stood up now, and she's practically shaking with rage.

Ron's lost track of when things went from bad to worse to disaster level, but he's too mad to make sense of it at the minute.

"Hermione, you come to my apartment three times a week and you're fucking exhausted! The first thing you do is fall down on the couch, and you practically fall asleep within the hour! Sometimes I don't even know why you bother coming over when half the time you just treat it like a bloody bed!"

There's an awful silence. Then-

"Fine!" she shrieks, "Fine! You want me gone? I'll go!"

"That's not what I-"

"Well maybe you need to get better at saying what you mean then!" She yells at him, and Ron doesn't even have time to be impressed that she knew the rest of his sentence.

"Hermione, wait- just _listen_ -"

"I don't want to listen to you anymore Ron!" Hermione interrupts then, "I'm sick of hearing it! It was bad enough when we were together, but now..." she shakes her head, as if dispelling the thought, and turns to leave.

He calls her name again just before she reaches the door, hoping she'll change her mind about leaving. It's a half hearted attempt, he's fully aware.

Part of him (and quite a big part) is perfectly happy to see her walk out of the door, because he feels drained from their arguing.

The thing is- she's right. This is why they'd stopped dating.

Why they're never going to go back to dating.

Ron groans and falls back against the couch, the noise from the TV blaring into the background and against his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

There are three things Ron Weasley hates above all else. The first is spiders, the second is being compared to others, and the third is nosy buggers who pry into his personal life.

The reporter who ambushes him outside his brother's shop scores two out of three, and manages to sincerely piss him off.

"Mr Weasley, there are numerous rumours that Hermione Granger cheated on you with Harry Potter, can you confirm this? How does it make you feel to know your lover prefers your best friend? Has this brought a strain to your relationships?"

Ron stands there for a second, befuddled, before the anger sets in.

It's not the fact that the reporter reminds him too much of Rita Skeeter, or that she's asking too many questions, or that he's in a rush that really enrages him.

No, it's the fact that him and Hermione have been apart for eight months now.

"It's none of your bloody business!" He shouts at the reporter. He knows that Hermione or Harry would've handled the situation a lot more diplomatically than Ron did, (he can almost hear Hermione's voice in his head, "Really Ron, you shouldn't have lost your temper like that, it will only make things worse.") but he's not Harry or Hermione.

Right now, the only thing he is is enraged and in a sour mood.

The reporter takes a step back, like she fears he's going to start swinging punches. Ron imagines what he must look like, stood there drenched in the rain, with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. He doesn't blame her for backing away.

"Look, Hermione didn't cheat on me, certainly not with Harry, and the three of us are close as can be. Okay? Go tell that to your bullshit sources."

The reporter blinks, raises her quill (probably to bombard him with queries again) but Ron is gone before she has a chance to open her mouth.

No doubt he'll be on the front page of _The Prophet_ tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

"So... What you're telling me is that you fucked things up with her again?"

Ron groans. He hadn't exactly been expecting support from Harry when he'd confessed details of their argument, but even so- he was beginning to regret ever telling Harry anything.

"No. Well, I mean, yes- but not like that. It was about her job, that's all. It's not because we, y'know, got back together or anything..." He trails off, unsure if this aids or hinders the point he's trying to make.

Harry shrugs. "Wouldn't bother me if you did. I just think you need to keep your distance because things like this always seem to happen just as you get too close."

Ron's about to retort, when his brain makes him stop. Harry has got a point. Distance is something him and Hermione have never really mastered.

"So..." he opts for instead, changing the topic altogether, "How are you and Ginny?"

As if Ron's just delivered some extremely bad news, Harry bristles. "Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." he says resolutely. There's a pause in which Ron gives up trying to figure out the mess that is his sister's relationship with Harry. Harry, too, seems to reconsider, for he lets out a long breath before speaking once more, "Look, I'm not going to tell you we're both happy with each other right now, because we're not. It's complicated but we're working through it." He stops for a second, setting his jaw, "And if I'm not allowed to ask questions about you and Hermione, than you're not allowed to ask questions about me and Ginny."

The way Harry says it lets Ron know that it's not up for debate, and Ron raises his eyebrows. It's extremely aware that Harry sets boundaries of any kind, so he knows to take this seriously.

"Sure. Yeah. Okay. That seems... Reasonable."

Harry nods, satisfied.

Rearranging the order of papers on his desk just for something to fill the break in the conversation, Ron almost achingly feels the need to lighten the atmosphere. He's already fallen out with Hermione, he'll be damned if he lets this dispute turn out the same way.

Opening his mouth to speak, it becomes apparent that Harry also had the same idea when Ron is interrupted by his best mate's voice. "I know we're working late tonight but I could really use a fly after this shift. Fancy heading out?" Harry asks. He almost pulls off trying to sound nonchalant. Almost.

"Sounds great." says Ron, who has secretly been counting down the hours until he can leave his desk all day, "As long as you let me try with your nimbus, mine's absolute shite and practically falling apart."

Harry nods his head yes and Ron muses over the striking talent him and Harry share when it comes to avoiding difficult conversations.  
  


* * *

 

 

They don't exactly resolve their argument. Not exactly. It just sort of... fades away.

He's having a dream about flying his Dad's Ford Anglia to Australia and back when the phone rings.

Ron's used to his phone ringing in the middle of the night. The muggle device had been Hermione's idea, as an alternative to using the floo or apparating to the other's flat when they woke up with the terrors of the past.

"Ron?" her voice is raw and scratchy, desperate and scared.

All thoughts of last week's argument vanishes when he hears her, the panic in her voice snapping him to his senses.

"I'm here, Hermione. I'm right here." he says because sometimes that's enough.

Pause.

"Are you... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm completely fine."

He can hear her breaths coming out in bursts through the small receiver, "Good," she chokes out.

"Just breathe, okay? Hermione, listen to me, just focus on my voice. You're fine, everything's fine, it was just a dream."

Hermione mumbles in response, and Ron's heart breaks a little, just as it does every time she rings.

This has been their system for a few months now. It hadn't been a problem when they were dating, because Hermione was always an arm's reach away from him at any point during the night.

Despite the war ending over four years ago, the effects haven't completely worn off. (Ron supposes they probably never will, but then he hears his therapist's voice in the back of his mind 'Scars will heal with time,' and he guesses that could also be true. Either way, they're not done fighting. Not yet.)

It had been trial and error at first. Ron hadn't known whether he was speaking too loudly or too quietly, but after a few mishaps and an abundance of patience from Hermione, he'd gradually gotten the hang of it.

Hermione's end of the line is silent for a while. "Sorry for waking you." She says, as she always does.

"You don't have to apologise, it's fine." he replies, as he always does. "You know you've done the same for me."

He can almost feel the smile in her voice when she says, "Thank you, Ron."

"No problem. Are you okay now?"

"I think I will be."

"Good. Call me again if you need, okay?"

"I will, don't worry."

"Okay, great. Well then, goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight Ron."

He's just about to end the call when he hears her voice again, "Wait, Ron? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, er, yeah, I'm still here. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine... I just- Thank you. Again."

Ron frowns, bemused. "It's fine, anytime. Anytime, Hermione."

"Goodnight then." she says, and her voice sounds quieter than usual.

"Goodnight."

Ron takes a while to go back to sleep after that.

 

* * *

 

 

It happens one night when they're both tipsy from celebrating her promotion to the department of magical law.

It's a small gathering really, just them, Harry, Ginny, and a few of Hermione's co-workers. Ron's on his second round of firewhiskey when Harry announces he's leaving.

"Sorry Hermione, but I'm exhausted and I don't think it'd be wise for me to drink any more seeing as I've got work tomorrow." he shrugs, looking apologetic in true Harry fashion.

Hermione smiles at him kindly. "It's completely fine Harry. I don't imagine we'll be here much longer anyway." She stands up to hug Harry goodbye, leaning to kiss him on the cheek as she does so. He leans down to whisper something in her ear which Hermione apparently finds amusing as she laughs and swats at his arm.

Harry sighs but Ron can tell it's in jest.

They leave one by one, until it's just Ron and Hermione at the counter.

"Er- I guess we should get off then?" Suggests Ron to her, and even he can hear the reluctance in his voice.

"Mmmmm." Hermione agrees, but she too doesn't sound all that keen on the idea.

"How much did you drink?" Ron asks, concerned about her ability to get home safely.

Hermione laughs and waves his worry aside with her hand, "Not that much, I still have work to do tomorrow you know."

"Really? You're planning on working tomorrow? Give yourself a break Hermione, fucking hell."

Shaking her head, Hermione returns to the cocktail she's sipping and smiles, "I can't slack off just because of a promotion, Ron."

Ron must still look incredulous, because Hermione puts her hand on his shoulder and leans in closer. "I did have a good time tonight, though. Thank you."

Ron nods as if it's normal for them to be in such close proximity, "Me too." he breathes in a whisper.

And then they're kissing. Hermione, the feel of her soft lips, her hands either side of his head, the taste of alcohol in his mouth. It's over far too quickly for Ron's liking, but he doesn't give them a chance to come to terms with what they're doing before he leans in again.

It's Hermione, and it feels right under the dim lighting in the pub, old hits playing on the jukebox. Granted, it's not how Ron's imagined this happening, but the difference location doesn't change the familiarity of the feeling.

Which may be why he readily agrees when she asks him back to her place.

This time, there really is no kidding himself. He had known exactly what Hermione's intentions were as soon as the words had left her mouth.

He wishes he could blame it on the alcohol, but the truth is that neither of them had more than two glasses to drink.

They apparate back to her flat in a hurry and there's no time wasted in trivial things such as making tea or conversation. Hermione's lips attach themselves to his as soon as his feet are planted on the ground, and he puts up no resistance, sinking into the feel of her.

Ron runs his hands down her body and she moans into his mouth, leading them both to the bedroom.

Ron revels in the familiarity of it. Despite the eight months since their breakup, everything about her, her taste, her touch, the feel of her, is so familiar and comforting, that it's only now Ron realises how long he's been deprived of such intimacy.

There are no words spoken that night. (Save for Ron's breathy whisper of ' _Are you sure'_ , Hermione's impatient reply, ' _Of course I am_ ', and the whispered contraceptive charms.) Ron falls asleep to the sound of her gentle breaths beside him.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Ron sees when he wakes up is the sleeping form of Hermione laying next to him. He startles for a second, before the events of last night catch up to him. _Oh shit_ , he thinks, and it's like a mantra repeated in his head: _shit shit shit shit shit shit shit._

It's all wrong. Apart from the expletives, Ron's primary thought is: _this is all wrong_.

What have they done? Ron watches Hermione's chest rise and fall with each soft breath and a wave of nostalgia hits him like a brick. This is how things used to be between them.  _This is how things should be between us_ , he thinks, and then promptly denies thinking.

And of course it's not, because this is all wrong. If there were a prize for how wrong something was, Ron would bet his entire life savings that this would win it.

Him and Hermione had slept together. They weren't dating, but they'd slept together. Ron tries to push the nagging voice that sounds an awful lot like his mother out of his head, preaching about promiscuity and indecency.

He drinks in her features, admiring the way she looks so peaceful in her sleep, and he hates himself. He hates himself because now he's gone and fucked things up between them and there is no way in hell she's ever going to want anything to do with him for the rest of her life.

He hates himself because he can only imagine the pain on her face and realises what they've done. He can hear her voice in his head now:  _'This was all a mistake, a huge, huge mistake, and I'm sorry Ron but I don't think it's appropriate for us to be around each other anymore.'_

Despite the fact that this was her idea, Ron's positive it will be a source of regret. He's full of guilt, and doubt, and grief because he already knows what has to happen.

He has to leave.

Looking at her face for a final time, committing every tiny detail to memory, Ron sits up as gently as he can. Hermione doesn't stir and Ron lets out the breath he's been holding, waiting.

His clothes are scattered about the room, so he casts a simple accio charm and gathers them up in his arms. He doesn't quite fancy walking out of her flat with his bits on display, so instead he changes in her tiny en-suite, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake her.

He debates apparating just there and then, or whether he should leave a note. After all, what kind of bloke shags his ex-girlfriend and then leaves the next morning with no explanation? Nevermind what's easy, Ron thinks as he roots around for a paper and pen. _You owe her this one, Weasley._

He scribbles some words down (he's never been good with words.) and turns to leave, but something makes him stop. Maybe it's the unfulfilled state of leaving without seeing her, or the longing he can already feel tightening his chest, but he makes his way back to her.

Leaning down ever so slowly, Ron brushes a kiss against her forehead lightly. It's stupid, and yeah, maybe it's a bit reckless, but Ron doesn't care. Hermione mumbles in her sleep, but she doesn't wake.

He tries not to think about how the syllable that rolled off of her slumbered lips was most definitely his name, instead whispering an apology into the silence of dawn and turning to leave.

He's always been good at leaving.


	2. Everything You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron hasn't spoken to Hermione in four months. He tells himself it's better off that way, but he's never been a very good liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a longer wait than expected for this chapter, but hey, better late than never, right? 
> 
> This chapter contains: some post break-up pining, no communication, the Sads, and Harry being a babe. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

"You're still not talking to Hermione?" Harry asks after four months have passed.

"Nope." says Ron, popping the 'p' and doing his best to appear unaffected.

Next to him, Harry sighs.

 

* * *

 

It's been awhile since he's seen her, not having met up on their usual weekdays. Ron almost becomes distressed at the ministry function Harry announces they're all to attend. (Something to do with the new legislation or something; he didn't really listen to the details.)

Hermione will be there. That's what Ron's focusing on, and although they seem to be on relatively good terms, Ron's still not sure how they evening's going to progress.

Not that he'll even be hanging around with Hermione, mind. She has her own place in the ministry. He'll likely just be with Harry all night, trying to shield his best mate from the nosy buggering reporters who pry into his personal life.

Besides, Ron has bigger issues to worry about besides Hermione. Working with the Aurors is taking a toll on him, and he feels less and less like going to work every morning when his alarm rings. There's a twisted feeling in his gut when he walks into the office, something like resignation (or maybe dread) sinks to the pit of his stomach and stays there until he leaves.

He doesn't want to fight anymore. But he knows Harry does and Ron has to be there for Harry. Ron's always been there for Harry.

And now he's going to a ministry function for a job he hates where he'll spend the whole night trying to chase away idiot reporters and hiding from his ex-girlfriend.

Perfect.

Ron sighs as he picks out the suit he's going to wear (he hates suits, all itchy and uncomfortable and bloody stupid-looking.) He finally settles on the one he wore for his and Hermione's two year anniversary, but he tells himself he's not thinking of the way Hermione's eyes had hungrily swept over his figure when he makes the decision.

He tries not to look as if he's too dressed up, but at the same time it _is_  a ministry event and you have to dress a little formally for these things. Or so he's told.

Harry arrives at his flat a little after eight ('The Boy Who Lived' is incapable of being ready on time, Ron knows this through many years of patient waiting.)

Harry smiles a worn out smile and Ron is all too relieved to see he's also dressed suit and tie style.

"You ready to go?" Harrys asks, as if he's not the one fifteen minutes late.

"Reckon so, yeah." Ron replies in what he hopes is a nonchalant way. If Harry can tell Ron's nervous about the night he doesn't say it.

Harry nods, extends his arm to Ron and Ron takes it, preparing himself for the ever uncomfortable tug of apparation. He feels Harry spin, and there's the brief suffocation that accompanies it, and then they're there.

There's a smattering of reporters in the Atrium, and Ron is determined to get them both through into the hall as soon as possible

For Harry, of course.

 

* * *

 

  
"Over here, Mr Potter, if you would!"

"Harry Potter, care to say a few words regarding your work within the ministry?"

"Potter and Weasley, can you confirm that you were in Paris last weekend? Apparently you were spotted by the Eifel Tower with Granger-"

"Alright, that's enough!" Ron yells, pushing his way through the crowds of reporters that seem to line the hallways. "I didn't expect there to be so many," he mutters in an undertone so only Harry can hear.

Harry shrugs, his eyes darting from reporter to reporter anxiously.

"Well, we haven't given interviews in a while... and we haven't been caught in any scandals recently either. Seems like everyone's just grasping for a bit of news."

Ron sighs as he bumps shoulders with people in an attempt to get them away from all this. He knows how overwhelmed Harry gets in situations like this, and he thinks it's bloody rude of Kingsley to expect him to handle it everytime there's a function. Admittedly, they don't happen often, but still. He'd like to be able to attend one of these things in peace for once, as annoying as they already are.

"Well in that case, I'm sorry our lives are too boring for them." he says, perhaps a bit more bitterly than is warranted.

Harry only shrugs again as they keep hustling their way to a more secluded area.

"Over there." Harry mutters, and Ron follows his line of sight to where a couple of ministry officials are stood in a corner.

Gripping Harry by the forearm, Ron uses his shoulder to clear their path. The two figures, each in dark dress robes, appear to be deep in conversation when him and Harry approach.

Staying to the opposite side of the corner, Ron tugs two chairs away from a nearby table and pulls them over. Hopefully the less than great lighting here will obscure them from prying eyes.

There's a ceremony later (because of course there is) which Harry is required to speak at (as he always is) and Ron can already tell that there's almost nothing Harry would like to do less.

"At least it's only an hour, right?" Ron mutters. Harry sighs, burying his head in his hands.

"This is, by far, the worst part of our job."

"Agreed." says Ron even as his stomach churns. He'd never tell Harry but recently he's been feeling as if ministry functions are the least stressful part of his job. True, they're always awful events, but they'll never be able to compare to the feeling of dread he gets when they're called out on a mission.

"Only an hour." Harry repeats, under his breath, and Ron resolves to delay his internal angst until they're both out of here.

 

* * *

 

Ron claps along with the rest of the audience as Harry takes the stage. They're almost an hour and a half into the function, it having been delayed by some ministry interns who accidentally transfigured the tables into a small forest instead of a stage.

Having had to abandon their corner seclude when Kingsley showed up to announce the start of the presentation, Ron is now sat alone at a three person table. He tries not to feel too pathetic, as the only solo member of what appears to be the entire bloody ministry, but it's a hard task. At least he can go as soon as Harry's finished speaking.

There's the sound of chatter from behind him and Ron is about to turn around and snap. Whilst there may not technically be anything happening yet, it's bloody annoying when he's trying to focus on his self-wallowing.

A giggle comes from one person, followed by a shushing noise from the other. By this point, Ron has had it, he turns around to not so politely tell them to shut up and-

It's Hermione.

Well, not just Hermione. She's with another woman from her department, Pamela, if Ron remembers correctly.

Ron looks at Hermione and Hermione looks back at Ron. He's overcome with a strange feeling that he can't quite name, it's like having too much and not enough of something all at once.

"Can we sit here?" The one who's not Hermione asks, rather abruptly, if he does think so himself. "Everywhere else is full."

For a moment, Ron is hit with a burst of nostalgia so heavy it almost knocks him backwards in his chair.

Recovering slightly too slowly for Hermione _not_  to have noticed, Ron replies. "Sure, yeah, whatever."

Hermione and her friend pull out seats; Hermione takes the one furthest away from him, he can't help but notice. Pamela whispers something to her, for which Hermione bats her arm, and gives a significant glance to Ron's approximate location at the opposite side of the table.

Ron may not have been as smart as Hermione at school, but he's sure as hell not an idiot.

"Interesting conversation?" he asks, sipping whatever sour tasting beverage was placed in front of him earlier that evening.

Hermione looks startled that he dare address them so directly, but Ron simply raises his eyebrows. Eventually, it's Pamela who answers.

"Quite." she smiles, all red lips and white teeth. "In fact, Hermione here was just telling me-"

Pamela stops, frowning. Judging by the 'thump' Ron just heard, his best guess would be that Hermione had kicked her from under the table.

"It's really none of your business." Hermione says stiffly, holding her chin up as if to challenge him.

Ron's never been good at resisting the bait, and so it's with venom that he replies, "I'd think it were more my business than it was hers." and gestures to Pamela, who shows the briefest expression of shock.

Hermione's lips purse together. "You were the one who walked away Ron. Not me."

The sudden severity in her tone and fire in her eyes stuns Ron into silence. Hermione watches him carefully for a few seconds before dragging her chair out, gathering her things, and walking off.

Ron stays statue still for a good thirty seconds, weary under the scrutinising gaze of Pamela. He doesn't know what just happened, and there's too much information for his brain to process anything.

"You're not going to go after her?" Pamela asks, and Ron's head snaps back up.

Should he? It's not like purposefully avoiding her these last few weeks got him any closer to letting her go.

"Well?" Pamela asks, urgency in her tone.

Ron doesn't reply, instead he stands up and follows the direction he'd seen Hermione walk off.

Behind him, the lights dim as the presentation starts.

 

* * *

 

"Hermione!" Ron calls out as he spots a wisp of her gold dress disappear behind a corner. "Hermione, wait!"

She doesn't, and Ron is forced to run to catch up with her before she reaches the fireplaces.

He runs into the Atrium, shoes making him slip slightly as he races forwards. "Wait!" he yells, Hermione's retreating figure getting further and further away.

To his surprise, this time, she does.

Ron slows down to a walk as he approaches her, still faced away from him. "Hermione, please..."

She turns around, tears drawing tracks down her face. "What do you want, Ron?" she asks, sounding more exhausted than Ron has ever heard her.

What does he want? Ron can't safely say for certain.

"'You were the one who walked away'?" he asks, quoting her. "What does that mean?"

Hermione's eyebrows knit together. "Exactly what it sounds like. I didn't leave. You did."

There's nothing Ron can really do to deny that now, is there? "So?" he replies instead, which- admittedly, is not his best comeback.

Hermione looks about ready to explode. "So? So, you have no right, Ronald Weasley, no right whatsoever, to come in and act like you're the offended party. You left me. Not the other way around."

Ron doesn't have a response to that, and Hermione obviously gets sick of waiting for one. Eyes filling up with more tears, she manages one last defiant glare in his direction before storming away into the fireplace.

"Croyden!" she shouts, and then she's gone.

 

* * *

 

Harry doesn't say a word to him as they walk out of the ministry together. Ron understands, to some degree, because he wasn't there for Harry's speech, which was really the only thing he actually went for in the first place.

"I'm sorry." he says eventually as they pass Liverpool Street Station. "For missing your speech."

"You know," Harry begins casually after a good few seconds of walking, "I'm not even pissed about the speech."

Ron pauses. "You're not?"

Harry shakes his head. "I'm annoyed at whatever the fuck is happening between you and Hermione right now."

They lapse into silence. "Nothing's happening between us." Ron says eventually, quiet in the dark night.

"That's the problem then, isn't it?" Harry says, crypticism complete with a wry smile.

In bed, later that night, Ron thinks that maybe that's exactly the problem.

 

* * *

 

"Your moping's getting ridiculous, you know." Ginny says to him one day after both him and Harry have been to watch a Holyhead match.

"I'm not moping." Ron insists stubbornly.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay, and I didn't just totally thrash the other teams chaser, whatever."

Ron smiles begrudgingly. "Great game, by the way."

"Thanks." Ginny says, smile bright now, "I know."

"Harry's by the stairs to the pitch, by the way."

Ginny turns towards him sharply. "And?"

Holding his hands up in surrender, Ron backs away slowly. "No reason," he says quickly. "Just thought I'd mention it."

Ginny glares at him as he waves a hand in goodbye.

Later that day, there's a smile on Harry's usually glum face, and Ron feels his insides twist in some bizarre mixture of happiness and jealousy.

"Alright, mate?" Ron finally asks, when Harry has resorted to grinning up at the ceiling instead of reading the news.

"Great, actually." Harry replies, his expression shifting to Ron. Ron doesn't know what he looks like in that moment, but his general state of being can't be that great, for Harry drops to a more sombre mood almost immediately.

"Talk to her, Ron." Harry says imploringly, and Ron wishes he didn't know what or whom Harry was referring to. "Just talk to her."

"Yeah," Ron nods his head after a few moments deliberation. "Yeah, I think I will."

 

* * *

 

He doesn't.

It's not even that he doesn't _want_  to, just- there never seems to be a good time, and Ron's not even sure what he would say if they were ever to be in the same room together.

Hermione probably wants nothing to do with him anymore, and to a certain extent, Ron can't even blame her.

He _was_  the one who walked away, as much as he'd like to pretend otherwise.

It's like there's a wall separating them, and nothing Ron does can seem to break past that barrier. He knows, rationally, that he could easily contact her via owl, ro even by muggle telephone, but he doesn't. Something as momentous as this has to be done to her face.

Altogether, it's easier to just avoid her. Ron tells himself that he's doing them both a favour, but by the time five months have passed since that fateful day when they slept together, he just can't believe it anymore.

But still- he doesn't speak to her, and he pretends to be fine. For all intents and purposes, he is fine. There'll come a day, in the future, where he won't be able to keep up the facade anymore, but for now he's doing just fine.

That's what he tells himself, at least.

 

* * *

  
The phone call comes from Harry, late in the afternoon one day. Ron's not used to his phone ringing in the daytime, so he wasn't actually around to receive the call the first time.

He's been helping George with the shop for a few years now, whenever he has a day off from work they go over all the business-y details such as profit margins and marketing. So when his phone rings on his bedside table, no one is around to answer it.

The second time it rings, Ron is just getting ready for bed.

"Hermione?" He asks in a panic. She's never rang him in the daytime before unless there's been an emergency. He feels cold with the chills that run down his spine at the thought.

But it's not Hermione that answers him.

"Nope, it's me." comes Harry's almost scratchy whisper.

"Harry?" Ron falters. If Harry's calling from Hermione's phone then that must mean...

"Where is she? Is she okay?" His voice sounds harsh when it comes out of his mouth. _Please tell me she's okay_ , he silently begs.

"She's fine. We're at the muggle hospital opposite the bridge. It's her father, he- It doesn't look good. She keeps asking for you."

Ron's speechless for a few seconds. He doesn't know what to say at first, before realising there was only ever one thing he was going to say. "I'm on my way. Tell her I'm on my way."

Ron doesn't even bother to grab his coat or put his left shoe back on before he apparates to the hospital.

 

* * *

 

Ron hates funerals.

Already, in his short twenty-three years of life he's attended far more than he'd like to recall.

He reckons he knows how funerals work just as well as Hermione knows The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

As he's sat next to Hermione now, the most he can offer her is a reassuring smile or a comforting squeeze of the hand, knowing full well that neither of these gestures make it any easier to deal with the overwhelming grief.

See, Ron's quite familiar with the process of grief too (far more familiar than any twenty three year old should be, he thinks), and he knows that it won't be fixed with any kind of affection he could give.

The ceremony is bleak, sordid, melancholic, and all those other depressing type of words Ron associates with death. It's not a nice atmosphere, really, but then again, it's probably the right one. After all, her father is dead. Surely that calls for Ron's most extensive depressing vocabulary.

The sadness Ron feels over Mr Granger's death is imminent, he can't even begin to imagine what Hermione's must feel like. He'd never really been that close to Hermione's father- sure, he'd had dinner with her parents a few times when they were dating, but that doesn't seem to count for much now that it's too late.

He recalls (almost begrudgingly so) when he first met Mr and Mrs Granger, after Hermione had brought them back from Australia. She'd been so excited for him to meet them (All Ron can remember is being vaguely terrified) but the evening hadn't actually been that bad. It had been awkward, fuck yes it had, but it hadn't ended with Mr Granger chasing him with one of those muggle wands that fired metal, so overall Ron considered it a success.

The thing is though- although he might've won the Granger's trust over eventually- it hadn't exactly ended that way. They'd broken up, Hermione and him, and although she'd never specifically said anything, there were hints weaved into conversations that had clued him into the fact they weren't exactly impressed with him.

In fact, (and Ron realises this with a pang of guilt so severe he can feel his stomach churning) he doesn't think he's seen either of her parents since the Friday before they broke up a year and a half ago.

Ron straightens up discreetly in his chair. He can't imagine he was at all in Mr Granger's good books when he'd died, surely.

Ron feels like an intruder just then, sat front row at this man's funeral when he probably wouldn't even have been allowed in his house. _But you're here for Hermione_ , a voice protests, and Ron decides that her dad would've liked that- the fact that she had someone to lean on.

Hermione snuffles from beside him, tears streaming down her face like raindrops racing down a window. He wants to reach her, hold her, comfort her, in some way, but he's lost.

It had been a heart attack, they'd later found out from doctors. The cause had been a point of mystery, seeing as Hermione's dad was not-unhealthy and reasonably young, at fifty six years. They say they're still looking into it, and Ron bloody well hopes they find an easily explainable answer soon because he knows Hermione won't be able to rest until they do.

He recalls the conversation they had once he reached the hospital. Hermione had ran into him, and he'd held her sobbing frame like that for quite some time. They weren't allowed into the operating theatre and were scarcely informed what was going on. He can clearly remember her saying, amidst all the beeping machines and medical equipment, "It's all my fault." in a voice that indicated just how thoroughly she believed it.

"Don't be silly," he said back, because he didn't know what else to say, "How is any of this possibly your fault?"

"It's the spell I used on him; I know it is."

"Hermione, that's- that's barmy... You can't blame yourself for this, love." Ron tried to reassure her, slipping into the old pet name subconsciously. He's not sure whether Hermione picked up on his use of the word 'love' or not, for she promptly burst into tears again. He'd simply held her for the rest of the long night.

When the ceremony was over and people began to disperse, Ron watched Hermione greet distant relatives, receiving both an obligatory hug and the sad look people's eyes took on when faced with someone who'd suffered a lost. Ron hates admitting how well he knows that look.

Hermione looks very frail there, mixed in with all her muggle extended family. As another person- probably a grandparent of some kind- pats her shoulder, Ron's pretty sure he is the only one openly witnessing her discomfort.

He knows he would've stormed off a while ago if confronted by all these people with their fake concern and all too real pity, but he isn't sure if Hermione would want the same. Until she excuses herself from the small crowd of people wishing to offer their condolences and made her way to him.

He holds out his hand as she gets nearer, and she takes it in her own.

"How are you doing?" He asks softly.

Hermione looks back to the crowd of people watching them curiously and gives a small shrug. Ron notices her reluctance and, figuring it either had to do with the array of people who had their eyes on them, or simply the atmosphere of the day, asks her if she wants to move somewhere quieter.

Hermione nods, and Ron leads her to a small park bench just out of view of the other guests.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks, feeling like a prat immediately afterwards. _Of course there's nothing you can do, idiot_ , he berates himself.

As expected, Hermione shakes her head, but tears well up in her eyes again and she tries desperately to wipe them away.

"Hermione..." Ron lets her name trail off, not quite sure what he would've said anyway.

There isn't much worse than watching someone try to fight back tears and lose, Ron thinks then, as they start to come faster than she can wipe them away. She lets out a sob, admits defeat, and buries her face in her hands.

Looking at Hermione now, Ron realises he'd give all he had, do all he could, to take that pain away from her.

She doesn't deserve any of this.

And now Ron's angry at the universe for being so cruel to her, but he understands that she's more important in that moment.

Pushing all feeling of rage aside, Ron pulls Hermione into his body like he had done a week previously, one hand rubbing her back in circles and the other stroking the back of her head. He hates that this is the most he can offer her, the most he can do.

Hermione breaks her crying to look up at him through teary eyes. "I don't want to be alone tonight." she chokes out before being hit with another wave of tears and retreating back to his chest.

"You won't have to be." he whispers back into her hair, answering the unspoken question without hesitation.

A promise, he thinks. One he intends on keeping this time.

 

* * *

  
His flat seems smaller than usual when they walk into it, hand in hand, that night. He turns on the lights quickly, thinking they've already had enough darkness for one day.

"I'll make tea." He says decisively. It feels like a pathetic attempt at normalcy (and maybe it is), but Hermione smiles gratefully all the same.

When he comes back with the tea, she's sat on the sofa twiddling her thumbs in her lap. She looks like she doesn't know what to do with her hands, and Ron hopes he's not being too forward when he takes them in his own, laying her teacup down on the table in front.

Neither of them say anything and Ron thinks that's maybe because there are simply no words to say. (He's also scared that whatever words that come out of his mouth will be the wrong type of words, so he stays cautious and waits for her to start the conversation.)

"I used to go skiing with mum and dad you know." Hermione says uncertainly after a while.

"Yeah, I remember you went a few times when we were in Hogwarts." Ron's not sure if this is the right reply- or if there even is a right reply- but it seems to be somewhere in that direction because Hermione smiles and nods, the face that had been tired and worn out all day suddenly looking alive.

"Yes!" Her smile falters slightly, "I never did really get the hang of it though."

"No?" He asks, surprised. For some reason he'd always imagined Hermione to be a very adept skier- probably because she's adept at most things she does.

Something akin to a guilty smile flashes across her face, "No. I was terrible!" she laughs, and then laughs harder when Ron pretends to be unconvinced, "Honestly, I was! This one time Dad had to drag me up a ski lift because I'd lost one of my ski's on the way down! Do you know how hard it is to lose a ski? They don't just fall off."

"Sounds like it takes skill then." He says and Hermione shakes her head and smiles.

"Hardly." she scoffs.

They fall back into silence again. He can tell she's thinking about her dad again.

Ron's not sure of the relevance of her skiing memories or why she'd brought it up, but it seems like the path to go down.

"Did you enjoy skiing though? Even though you were rubbish at it, it was fun, right?"

"It was alright I guess. The skiing not so much, but Mum and Dad enjoyed it, and I guess... I really just wanted them to be happy." Hermione pulls her hands out of his to wipe a tear from her cheek, and Ron is startled to see she's started crying. "I always... Just wanted them to be... to be h... happy-" Hermione buries her face in her hands like she had done earlier that day.

Emotions are messy. That's what Ron decides as he looks at Hermione, sobbing when she had been laughing a few minutes prior. They're messy and awkward and destructive, rushing in all at once and stumbling over each other in the process. They don't come one at a time, and then they explode.

Feeling routine, Ron wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders and Hermione leans into his warmth, her body cocooning into his side like a crescent moon.

He lets her cry for as long as she needs, shedding a few tears himself in the process.

The worst part about this all is that it's so unfair. They've fought through a war, lost hundreds, but Hermione still has to fight the grief that losing her father has brought.

It's not fucking fair.

Hermione pulls her head up from his chest with some effort and rests it on his shoulder instead. She's still crying, but not as hard now. Her breaths are coming slower, more controlled, and she grips the back of his shirt less like her life depends on it and more like she simply needs something to hold on to.

"It'll be okay." he tells her, even though it won't be, not straight away.

Hermione nods in agreement, and Ron can tell she's forcing herself to believe it- just as he is.

"Thank you for letting me stay here." Hermione tells him then, her voice raspy and quiet.

"No problem." He replies, feeling like he needs to say more. He doesn't.

"Sorry for being a... Well, a mess."

"Hermione, I think you have every right to be a little bit of a mess right now, okay? It's fine."

She smiles, but it's half-hearted and they both know it.

Lapsing into small silence again, Hermione's head still on his shoulder, she brings her hands around to rest near his chest. In any other circumstance, it probably would have been comfortable, but all Ron's mind can focus on is the sound of Hermione's broken sobs.

He wishes he could find a way to take that sadness away from her, but another part of him argues against the idea. Ron considers himself an expert on repressing feelings, and if Hermione needs to feel sad about this for a while then Ron is going to do his best to let her.

After a while, Hermione pulls her head up, her hands on either of his shoulders, "Thank you," she says again, and Ron is about to interrupt, about to tell her she's already said it, and it's fine. "Not just for letting me stay here, but for everything else as well. I really appreciate it."

Ron's mouth is forming the first syllable of her name when their lips meet. The kiss takes him by surprise but he doesn't fight it. Hermione's lips move over his slowly and softly, but with a passion behind them. Ron can taste the tears on her lips.

Hermione's hand is on his cheek as she deepens the kiss. alarm bells are going off in Ron's brain but they're far away; distant. He ignores them.

Right now the only real thing he knows is Hermione. Her scent, her touch, her taste. Everything about her is so familiar, and this time neither of them are drunk.

They're perfectly sober and they're kissing and it's great and-

She's crying.

Ron kicks himself for being a pratt and pulls away, raking a hand through his hair. He takes a second to get his breath back, the intensity of their kiss having temporarily taken away his ability to think straight.

Hermione's looking up at him, tear-stained but beautiful, and there's a question in her eyes.

"You're upset." he explains.

Hermione swallows and shakes her head. Ron sighs.

"I'm not going to do this whilst you're upset." He tells her, fully aware of the implication that he would if she weren't.

"I'm not upset." Hermione says, and even though her voice cracks halfway through her sentence, she sounds almost convincing.

"Yes, you are. You're upset and you want a distraction! Trust me, I've been there."

Ron's recalling all the time he spent locked away with Hermione after the war. They'd used each other to distract themselves. Getting lost in her was far better than getting lost in memories of the war.

Hermione stares at him. He can't read her expression, but maybe that's because he's not trying to.

"You're not a distraction." She tells him, voice steady.

"Hermione, you're only kissing me because you're trying to forget!" Ron insists, but at this point he's not really sure if it's still Hermione he's trying to convince.

"I'm not trying to forget!" Hermione thunders back. Ron's annoyed, not just because she's being stubborn, but because arguing is the last thing they should be doing right now.

"Yes you are! Why the fuck else would you kiss me?"

"Because I miss you?" Hermione suggests, and her voice is quiet. "Because you're the only other thing I can think about besides him? Because I still love you?"

Everything goes quiet. Ron's still trying to digest her words, but his mind feels numb. Maybe because what he's been trying to deny for so long is now out in the open, in front of him, yet he's still trying to make excuses.

When Ron speaks, it feels like he's had to swallow a brick in order to do so. "You're only saying that because you're upset." He says, in a voice that sounds weak and unsure, even to his own ears.

"I'm not upset!" Hermione cries, punctuating her statement with a blow to his shoulder. Ron catches her fist as it hits it's mark and brings Hermione back to his chest.

She's sobbing now. Again. Fast breaths that come in quick little bursts, like she's just ran a marathon and is trying to get her breath back.

Maybe it's not that bad of an analogy for grief, actually. You go through all of the running, whether you're running away from something or towards something, and then you reach the end and it's surreal. Like it shouldn't be over but it is and you don't know what to do with yourself.

A bit more morbid, maybe so, but all the same.

Hermione sobs into his shirt, and Ron holds her there, trying not to focus on the words that were said, or anything else that occurred in the past five minutes.

_She's just upset_ , he tells himself, over and over, his mantra back. _She's upset she's upset she's upset..._

He sighs and inhales the scent of her hair. Something smoky and fresh, but unmistakably Hermione.

"We'll sort this out in the morning, okay?" he mutters, kissing her forehead. They've already broken so many boundaries tonight, Ron's not sure what the point in feigning ignorance is anymore.

Hermione says something that gets lost in her tears. Ron strokes her back, continues whispering the long worn out words of comfort and support to her. He's not sure it's helping, but it makes him feel like it does, and maybe that's all either of them need.

"I'm sorry for... For hitting you." Hermione says as soon as she has enough breath back to form a sentence.

"S'okay," he tells her. "Didn't hurt."

She looks as if she may say something to that, possibly 'That's not the point', (which they both know it isn't,)  
but instead she stays quiet. Moves back into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for kissing you." She says then, in the same post-marathon way.

Ron wants to tell her that it's not something she has to apologise for. He wants to tell her that the only reason he held back was because he didn't want her to regret it. He wants to tell her that he'd kiss her again, right here, if it would help her to feel better.

But he doesn't.

Partly because he's a coward, and partly because he doesn't want to end up taking advantage of her.

"It's okay." he says instead, rubbing her shoulder this time. "It's fine."

Hermione nods. Steels herself. "I'm sorry for the other thing as well."

Ron takes in a deep breath. She doesn't have to say it for him to know what she's talking about (a bloody relief, he thinks, because he doesn't know if he could bear hearing them said again and not being able to say them back.)

He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he nods instead. She never actually said she's regretted telling him, or that what she'd confessed was untrue, so Ron clings to that as he tells himself to forget about it.

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" he suggests, attempting to inject optimism into his voice.

He thinks Hermione may have picked up on this when she smiles a painfully tired smile up at him.

Disentangling himself from her, Ron stands up and offers his hand. Hermione takes it and he tries not to focus on how perfectly they fit together as he pulls her up.

"You can have my bed," he says, because he knows she needs it, "I'll roll out the sofa, okay?"

Hermione looks stricken by this. "I can't take your bed." she protests.

Ron shakes his head, dismissively. "No, really, it's fine, I don't have work tomorrow and you need some decent sleep."

He's scared his gallantry towards her may only serve to upset her again, but after a furtive glance towards his bedroom, she concedes.

They're in his bedroom, and Hermione climbs into the single bed. It's strangely normal, her being here with him.

Ron pulls the quilt on top of her once she's laid down and moves to brush a loose strand of her from her forehead.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks, trying not to sound too much like a patronising twat.

"I think so."

"Good." he says gently, still brushing her hair although there's really no reason to anymore.

"I really am sorry for everything, you know." Hermione says matter-of-factly. It almost makes Ron chuckle, the way she treats an apology like a chance for him to learn something. "I was upset." she admits then, quietly.

"I know." Ron replies in the least _I-told-you-so_  voice he can manage. "I know you were, but that's okay."

Hermione nods, and Ron understands that there's still so much left unsaid between them. If they don't talk about it now, it may stay unsaid forever.

Then again, maybe it should.

Ron bids Hermione goodnight, tells her to wake him up if she needs anything, and closes the door behind him with an all too prominent 'thud' in the now silent house.

He thinks about all the things he wants to say to her. _I love you. I miss you. I want to help you. I'm miserable without you. Let's try again._

And then he thinks about how some things are better off left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get on to the happy stuff soon, I promise. 
> 
> The songs that inspired this chapter are as follows: Everything You Are by Ed Sheeran, The Story of Us by Taylor Swift, and Drive by Halsey. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and, as always, your feedback is essential to me as a writer! <3


	3. Worth Fighting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things with him and Hermione go back to normal for a while. Or, their version of normal, anyway. 
> 
> And then Hermione brings with her some news that makes Ron realise that nothing will ever be normal ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It's been a while but... Ta da! Finally finished. The only part of this I actually had written from my first draft (way back in 2015 oh boy) was the last 2,000 words at the very end and I did not realise how much more I would need in order to make it a functioning, flowing story, so... Sorry for the wait! But here it is, I hope you like it! 
> 
> And to anyone who has been reading this story from the beginning: I really appreciate the support and I hope the massive gaps between chapters weren't too distracting!

Hermione has vacated his bed when Ron awakens. Still in the clothes she wore yesterday, she's seated at the small table he keeps in his kitchen. The table is a source of regret for Ron; it has no real purpose other than to reduce the clutter around his apartment, but Hermione is sat there cradling a mug of tea between her hands, and she's left another mug opposite her- presumably for him. All of a sudden, Ron is overcome with a strong wave of gratitude for the table, and an even stronger wave for the witch sat upon it.

"Hey," Ron says sleepily, pulling himself up into a sitting position and rubbing the dust from his eyes "Sleep well?" The blanket- which was never large enough to cover all of him to begin with- slips off of the sofa as he stretches, yawning to complete the action.

Hermione hums as she sips her tea, "Yes, thank you." she says simply, and Ron nods. He feels at a loss, stuck, uprooted.

Making his way over to the spot opposite Hermione, he fully takes in her appearance. She looks tired.

Which is reasonable, he thinks, given the circumstances of the past few days, but... It's never easy to see her like this, and today is no exception. Hermione's gaze flickers to him suddenly, and for all her dampened spirits, there's a challenge in her eyes, daring him to comment.

The tea is lukewarm now, but Ron sips it anyway, averting his gaze. Hermione does the same, continuing to stare off into the distance- or, more accurately, continuing to stare off at the pictures half-heartedly hung up on Ron's wall.

It was a quick job, started and abandoned soon after, but the thought is there. Stuck there with muggle blue tack are pictures; him, Hermione, and Harry, during their school years. Old newspaper clippings with the three of them, him and Harry smiling as they start at the auror office. And just to the right of all the others, separated as if there had once been a plan for it, is the photo of him and Hermione, right after their first date as a couple. It's a magical photo; in it, Hermione laughs and buries her face in his shoulder, whilst Ron holds her to him and waves at the camera awkwardly with his free hand. It was taken by Ginny, almost two years ago now.

"Those were good times." Hermione comments, absent apart from the way her gaze lingers on the photos.

Ron swallows a mouthful of cold tea. He doesn't know whether she's referring to all of the memories in a collective general or their specific relationship but- "Yeah," he agrees softly, "Yeah, they were."

Hermione smiles at him, and he smiles back. It feels like they're sharing a secret.

 

* * *

 

Hermione leaves his apartment at eleven o' clock that day, and from there on, things slowly begin to shift back to normal.

Well, their normal anyway.

Hermione comes over to his every Wednesday after work. They talk, they laugh, sometimes they simply work in silence. Sometimes Harry will be there, too, and that's nice- just the three of them again, an intrinsic rightness settling deep within as they all curl up on the too-small sofa and watch TV.

(Hermione and Ron are very careful to sit either side of Harry whenever this happens. If Harry has any complaints about this arrangement, he doesn't voice them, although Ron always finds himself subject to an eye-roll the next day at work.)

Ron's favourite times, by far, are the times when Hermione will drop in after a long day and talk to him about it at length. She's frustrated at the slow progress her department is making, but insanely proud of her work at the same time, and Ron could watch her rant about it for hours. On an ideal day, he has done.

Besides, the more he talks to Hermione about her job, the less he has to offer up in exchange about his. It's easy to fake when he doesn't have to invent elaborate descriptions of his day to day working life.  
"What did you do today?" She'll ask, and he'll shrug.

"Office work, boring stuff, you know. Paperwork. Routine checks. That kind of thing." Hermione will smile in a grimace, and pat his shoulder comfortingly.

"Office work isn't that bad, I'll have you know." She'll joke, and then they'll be back on track, simple as that.

Sometimes, he thinks she knows he's not happy. She's always been too smart for her own good, and occasionally he'll catch her staring just a little too long in his direction for it to be anything other than pity.

By this point, he thinks maybe they're both a little too good at pretending.

 

* * *

 

 

Ron is crouched behind a piece of rubble, waiting for his heart to stop pounding. He's breathing quicker than usual, and he doesn't trust his legs to work were he to stand up.

Saying that, the jets of blue light are getting extremely close now, so standing up is becoming less of an option and more of a necessity. Taking a deep breath, Ron ducks out from his hiding spot and closes the distance to the side of the house, streaks of blue following him as he goes.

They've been sent to a muggle neighbourhood, where suspected former death-eaters are thought to be laying low in an effort to avoid arrest. Ron knows this case backwards and forwards, it's been a common topic of discussion between him and Harry, a case they've been working on for months now.

They should've been prepared. As it turns out, there are more cloaked figures than the three they'd been expecting, and those figures had seemed to know they were coming. It was an all out ambush the second they stepped through the door.

Now Ron is stuck behind a corner of the building, and cursing himself for not being more thorough. They got clearance for the raid earlier that morning, and in their haste, had probably not taken as much time to prepare as they should've.

Harry runs up beside him a few seconds later, Ron's whole being seeming to stop at the curse that very narrowly misses him.

"Okay?" Harry asks, shooting a spell around the corner with perfect precision. Ron can only nod as he clutches his wand with enough force he's almost scared it'll snap in two. The other members of their team are scattered in between , vaguely forming a circle around the perimeter.

Despite the odds, and despite the surprise, they're actually in a pretty good position. And yet- Ron can't stop worrying, can't stop thinking 'what if'.

He. Just. Can't. Stop.

"Ron!" Harry yells, and Ron jerks back into action, immediately flattening himself against the wall on instinct. When no attack seems forthcoming, he looks questioningly to Harry, whose expression of concern seems far out of place given the situation they're currently in.

"What?" Ron asks belatedly.

Harry blinks at him. "I asked if you were ready. Is everything all right?"

Ron mentally shakes himself. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

 

* * *

 

 

The mission is a success. Amidst the chaos of the fighting, him and Harry begin their well tested method of secluding the enemies one by one, until there's enough left that are easily outnumbered by aurors, enabling an easy arrest.

It takes hours, and by the end of the night Ron is drained. The introduction of new bruises all along his right side does not help this matter, nor the debrief meeting they have back at the office.

It's apparently the biggest arrest since the end of the war. Ron doesn't know why that fact makes him feel so queasy, but it does. Harry doesn't smile, but his satisfaction is obvious from the way that he signs the papers off with a flourish. It's almost enough to calm Ron's nerves. Almost.

Hermione answers on the fourth knock. She's dressed in a pink dressing gown, but otherwise there's no sign of the fact that it's three am, that Ron showed up unannounced, that he probably shouldn't even be here.

"I stayed up." Hermione whispers into his hair when he lets himself fall into her embrace. "I thought you might come here."

She's right, and for the first time in a long time, Ron allows himself the simple satisfaction of being able to cry. They haven't moved out of the doorway, and the height difference makes it particularly difficult to find a comfortable hugging position, but neither of them move.

Hermione strokes his hair and shushes him, and somehow they find their way onto the sofa, cradling each other with their bodies.

Ron is tired.

Fuck, he's so tired.

"I don't want to do this anymore." He tells her.

"I know." She replies.

 

* * *

 

 

He's unpacking boxes with George in the supply room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes when George abruptly stops in the middle of a joke about dragons.

Ron waits for the punchline, but when none seems forthcoming, he changes the subject, taking the box that George is holding and moving it into the shop. This happens sometimes. George is so used to Fred finishing his jokes that sometimes he forgets that he's not there, that there is no one to finish telling his joke.

When he comes back, George is wiping a hand across his eye, which is unusual. Their standard protocol for this type of thing is to act like it doesn't happen- George doesn't seem to be doing that today. Ron is just wondering whether his brother has finally decided that, yes, he does need to talk about it for once, when George speaks.

"I was thinking," he begins, and Ron watches for any sign of breakdown. He can't find any. "There's a lot of work to be done here." George continues, waving a hand around the bursting supply room. "I could use more help, if you'd be willing to give it. I could pay you, obviously."

Ron's stomach churns.

"I know you work full-time for the aurors and all but," he shrugs. "In case you ever get bored of all that action."

"Yeah, no, that'd be great, I'm down."

George nods. "I mean, I could really stand to employ someone on a full-time basis because- well, there's a lot for... For only one person to do, y'know?"

Nodding before he can even register doing so, Ron attempts to swallow his nerves. "Yeah."

"I'll probably hold interviews or something eventually, but until then, you'd be okay to..." he trails off, a habit of his that Ron has had to adapt to quickly.

"What if I could work full-time?" Ron blurts out in a rush. And then, because it'll be harder to start again once he stops. "If I left the aurors, I'd be free to help out full-time, right?"

George's eyebrows raise about a meter in surprise.

"Hypothetically." Ron assures him, heart pounding.

George shrugs, "In that case, we'd-" here, he cuts himself off, but perseveres nevertheless. "I'd be thrilled to have you."

It's a sincerity that is rare coming from George, only partly ruined by the dungbomb that is thrown at Ron's head a few seconds later.

 

* * *

 

 

"Talk to Harry." Hermione implores him after his third successive night of being unable to sleep.

Everything is too noisy, too restless in his mind, and although Hermione claims not to mind these late night conversations, Ron suspects she may be growing tired of being woken at three am just because he had another nightmare.

"Please talk to him." Hermione says, and then: "Goodnight, Ron."

The receiver clicks, dead.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry is awfully quiet throughout Ron's explanation. They're sat at their respective desks- or rather, Harry is sat at his desk, Ron is perched on the side, trying to explain the confusing array of emotions that have led him to this point. It's dark, everyone else having abandoned the office for early leave, and Harry sits, and listens, and occasionally nods at Ron's words. It leaves him with the distant feeling that he's on trial, although if Hermione were here he knows she'd say it was merely a reflection of his own fears. She'd probably be right, too- she always is.

When Ron finishes, there's a heavy silence. Ron isn't sure if Harry is waiting to say something, or if he's expecting Ron to go on. Either way, it's a little jarring.

"But I thought this was what you always wanted." Harry says eventually.

Ron shrugs. "Me too."

Harry gives him a puzzled look but eventually turns his gaze elsewhere. "You're going to help George with the shop?"

Another shrug. "May as well. It won't be the worst work in the world, and if the family business thing gets too tiring- well. I dunno what I could do but there's gotta be something out there."

"I hear Hogwarts are hiring Dark Arts Professors." Harry says. When Ron looks over to him, there's a wide smirk on Harry's face.

"Ha, ha." Ron says, deadpan. "Seriously though, you're okay with everything?"

"I guess?" Harry turns to look at Ron, shrugging a shoulder as he does so. "I mean, it'll be weird. But I'll manage. It's what you need to do, y'know?"

Ron hums. "Cool. Alright."

"Plus, it's not like we'll lose contact." Harry continues. "I doubt that's even possible at this point. I mean, there's me and Ginny, and you and- well. You get my point."

Ron stares at Harry for a long time.

"What?"

"We live together you barmy idiot. As if our only point of contact would be my little sister when we literally share the same bloody bathroom, come off it."

Harry blinks. "Point taken."

"Besides, you're not getting out that easily. You're like a brother, you know."

A silence descends and Ron finds himself wanting to fill it. Him and Harry don't often do sentimental, and that fact seems to exist in the air around them.

"We almost got through this whole conversation without being sappy, do you realise that?" Harry asks, though he's smiling and Ron pretends not to notice how his eyes glisten.

Ron moves to shrug his shoulders, but then he has an armful of Harry, and before he knows what's happening, they're hugging.

It's not a goodbye, but for a moment there, it felt an awful lot like one.

"By the way," Ron starts cautiously once they've broken apart. "You and Ginny. I'm happy for you both."

Harry nods. "Thanks. It's going well. Dare I ask about you and Hermione?"

Ron's shoulders are getting sore from all the shrugging he's been doing lately. "You could ask, but I doubt I could give you an answer. I've no bloody clue."

"Sounds like you need to talk to her."

That one earns Harry the glare that he deserves.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, listen, I've been meaning to say... That is, I think we need to talk."

Ron's attention turns away from where Ross and Rachel are breaking up (seriously, again?) on the small TV, and to Hermione, curled in the chair opposite, staring at where her hands have been replaced by the sleeves of her oversized jumper.

He hits pause on the TV immediately and turns towards her. "Everything okay?"

Hermione shrugs, still not meeting his eyes. "Everything's good. Great, actually. I just- I have some news."

"Okay," Ron says, trying to quell the sudden surge of emotions in his chest. "Sure. Hit me with it."

A corner of Hermione's mouth turns up at the expression, immediately vanquished by the knitting together of her brows. "The ministry offered me a promotion."

Ron grins. "Hey! That's great! Well done."

Hermione smiles. "Thanks. It's just... It's in the Australian ministry."

Ron gapes. He can't seem to make any sounds. Why? He wants to ask. When? Did you take it? He's bursting with questions, but none of them seem able to surface. All that comes out, when he opens his mouth to speak, is a half-strangled, half-whispered, "What?"

Hermione grimaces, like that was the reaction she'd been expecting. "I know. The head of international magical co-operation, Rowenda, you remember her? She helped me when I went to look for my parents, and I spent some time with her department before I came back to London. She's been in touch with me, and she offered me the job."

"Did you take it?" Ron asks, having to force the words out. As soon as he's said it, he's not sure he wants to hear the answer.

"I did." Hermione says, and Ron's world crumbles. "It's a good- no, a great- opportunity, and it'll... My mother, you see, she's been talking about moving back to Australia ever since... Ever since... Well. My point is that I'll be able to go and do some really useful work, and Australia have an amazing magical research facility so I wanted... I wanted to see if there's anything they could tell me about the spell I used on my parents."

"Hermione," Ron breathes out her name, his voice sounding less strangled, more soft. "Please don't tell me you're doing this just because you think what happened was your fault."

Hermione shakes her head resolutely, her jaw set, stubborn tears stuck in her eyes. "No. I just- I need to know, Ron. I need to do this."

"You need to move to Australia?"

Hermione turns to him, gaze fierce. "What I _need_ , is space. Space to think, space to relax, space to put things into perspective."

Ron gets the distinct impression they're not just talking about her father anymore.

"You'll be coming back, right?"

Hermione stares straight ahead, and nods. "My employment contract is for five years, and then a transfer. Which will be back to London, if I want that."

Ron doesn't ask what will happen if she decides not to come back to London. He's not sure he could withstand the answer.

A heavy blanket of silence settles, thick, like fog in a low-lying valley. Ron slumps back against Hermione's old sofa and closes his eyes. After a minute or two of quiet, he feels Hermione's weight settle beside him.

"I'll come back." She whispers after clasping his hand tightly. "I promise."

Ron doesn't have the strength to question her just then, so he simply squeezes her hand back and believes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny has been wrestling with Hermione's bedside drawer for over an hour now.

"Doing this the muggle way is bloody hard." She complains, grunting with the effort.

"No one said you had to do it the muggle way," Harry points out, levitating pieces of IKEA furniture back into their respective boxes.

"Actually," says Ginny, straining to unscrew the third drawer, "Ron did."

"Oi!" Ron complains. "I said I _bet_  you couldn't do it the muggle way, I never said you _had_  to."

"No, but then you went and put one galleon on it, so you may as well have done."

Ron shrugs, not even bothering to hide his grin. He remembers when he and Hermione had assembled all of this furniture; at first, she'd stubbornly refused to use magic, but after struggling for two hours with various instructions and flat-packs, they'd given up and used their wands.

The memory is an old one, but sat here in Hermione's flat, taking apart all that they'd once built together, brings it right to the surface. There's a metaphor hidden in there somewhere, he thinks distantly.

Hermione herself walks into the room a few seconds later, carrying yet more boxes. "Found them!" she declares, depositing them next to where Ron is working on the bedframe.

Ron stares at the boxes for a fraction too long.

Harry verbalises what they're all thinking. "Let me get this right: you want us to fit all of your books- all of them- into two boxes?"

Hermione blows a curl of hair from her face. Hands on her hips and standing tall, she stares them all down as if to say 'Well? What's the problem?"

Ginny continues where Harry left off. "Hermione, you have enough books to fill _at least_  ten boxes, how do you expect us to fit them into two?"

Hermione makes a disbelieving sound, as if the answer should be obvious. "Undetectable extension charms, of course." she answers. At their collective 'ahh' of understanding, Hermione shakes her head. "Honestly, are the three of you wizards or not?"

"Not, actually." Ginny says, but her voice is drowned out by the sound of Harry laughing in a way that's verging on uncontrollable.

Ron smiles and Hermione smiles back. Something passes between them, and for a moment, for one glorious moment, Ron sees that everything will be okay.  
  


* * *

 

 

"Ron, catch!"

Ron's Keeper reflexes kick in just in time for him to catch the remembrall George flings at him from across the store. "Trying to kill me?" he asks, stocking it on the shelves with the rest.

"You caught it, didn't you?"

Ron laughs, climbing down the ladder and meeting George back in the middle. It's just past closing time, which means stock refills and profit margins. Ron was surprised to find, when he first closed the shop with George, that he didn't actually find the tasks as dull as they seemed- a fact for which he is immensely grateful.

"Hermione leaves tomorrow." George says, nonchalant.

"I know."

"How're you doing?"

"Fine. It's fine."

George looks dubious, but lets it go. "Come on, if we close up quick we can get there early."  
  


* * *

 

 

They do not, in fact, get there early. Hermione's going away party is in full swing by the time Ron and George show up. It's being hosted at Ginny's place, seeing as Hermione's is bereft of furniture save for her bed, and Ron spots them both over in a corner, along with Harry. He heads over to them as George wanders off to chat to Lee Jordan.

Ron is surprised, really, by how many of their old classmates are here. He recognises Parvati and Lavender immediately, waving to the latter with a guilty air, and thinks it strange that Hermione invited them. Then again, sharing a dorm with someone for seven years has got to make you a little sad to leave them behind.

Seamus and Dean are hanging about near the kitchen, chatting animatedly to Neville, who blends in just as well as ever. Even from his position here, he can see where Dean' engagement ring shines on his finger, and thinks it ironic, that out of all of them, the two who were the most clueless were the first ones to get engaged. Ron had been at the engagement party- he thinks it's the only time he's ever seen Seamus cry. Nevertheless, he's happy for them. If a little bit jealous, but that can't be helped.

"About time you got here." Ginny admonishes when he finally makes it to them.

Ron shrugs. "Busy day."

"I'm glad you could make it." That's Hermione, who reaches out to touch his hand, smiling.

Ron finds himself unable to do anything but smile back. "Wouldn't miss it." He says, flirting a little too close to the truth for his liking.

The glance that Harry and Ginny share doesn't go unnoticed by Ron either, but he lets it go. This might be his last night in a while to simply enjoy being around all three of them together.

He's damn well going to enjoy it. 

 

* * *

 

He doesn't start walking with the intent to end up at Hermione's flat (or maybe he does, who knows) but that's what happens. It's raining and he's wet and cold, so when he knocks on her door he's shaking, whether from the cold or nerves he can't quite tell.

Hermione answers the door, looking older and more run-down than any twenty four year old ever should. He knows the past few months haven't been easy for her and now with the job transfer... well.

"Ron. Come in."

He steps inside and the warmth from her flat hits him at the same time as the realisation that she'd been expecting him. Of course she had.

They know each other too well.

Who was he to let her leave without saying goodbye? She'd known, just as surely as he, that he'd be here tonight.

He takes his boots off at the door, feeling guilty for treading mud and dirt into her apartment, even though she'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon (the thought sends an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.) Her apartment doesn't look like her apartment anymore. Too... empty. too devoid of life, of spirit, of Hermione.

Boxes lay in the corners, stacked up like walls, and the walls are left bare, everything a blazing white that burns his eyes if he focuses on the absence of everything that used to make this place flourish for too long.

"So... you're really leaving." He doesn't know why he says it like he does. Maybe he's hoping that she'll deny it, give up a career opportunity for a feeble second attempt at a romance that is almost just a memory. Yeah right, Weasley, he thinks.

"Yeah... I'm really doing it." She says, breathing out a sigh and tugging at a stray strand of hair. "Feels strange, doesn't it? This place, so empty..."

She doesn't have to say it. He knows what she's referencing. All the time they spent here- as a couple. All the late nights watching Disney films, the breakfasts at dinner, the dancing around the kitchen- all of it. Gone.

Or, it's not really gone, it still exist in their heads. But now that the furniture's gone, it feels like that's the only place it will ever exist until it fades away and they simply forget everything that they were.

Ron sighs and sits himself down on the naked sofa. "We had some good times, right? As a couple?" He asks because he needs to know, Needs to know it's not just in his own head that it feels like they've thrown away something worth keeping.

Hermione nods, slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, of course we did. We had fun." She says, and Ron's relieved to hear the sincerity with which she says it. "Sometimes I wonder why we even broke up at all. I get so caught up in all the good moments we had that I completely forget about the bad."

Ron's shocked. If he didn't know better he'd say that the words that'd just come out of her mouth were an exact reflection of his own. "Yeah! Yeah, me too. I mean, I used to feel like that too- that we'd wasted something."

Ron's palms are itching, his face feels red, and he's scared they're going too far now. He's got used to avoiding this part in their conversations- careful, strategic moves to find his way around without having to speak about it.

Now, however, they're staring the horse straight in the mouth. Whatever that means. Ron never really did get the hang of deciphering Hermione's muggle idioms.

So when Hermione nods her head enthusiastically, wide eyed and encouraging, he feels different.

"Sometimes, I kinda wish we'd stayed together. Worked it out, y'know?"

Hermione's still nodding. It's almost unnerving really. All this time he'd thought he was alone in his desire for an alternate version of events, but here Hermione is, nodding along, the tears in her eyes telling hi just how much she identifies with his words.

His heart is beating faster than he can remember in a long time, so it's a gamble spurred on by adrenalin when he says, "I think I'm still in love with you."

Pause.

Breath.

Stare.

The feel of Hermione's lips breaks the freeze frame, and Ron melts into the way she feels on top of him, her arms circling round his back, her legs clutched around his waist.

They're kissing. Again.

Only this time it's different because they're not drunk and she's not upset and they both want this. He's just told her that he loves her for fuck's sake.

"I love you too." Hermione murmurs onto his lips, and Ron has to close his eyes to appreciate that yes this is real, yes this is actually happening, no, it's not a dream.

Tehy carry on kissing when the full impact hits Ron. She loves him. He loves her. They're in love with each other.

It's enought to make him doubt whether they really fell out of love in the first place. If asked to put a time on when he stopped loving her, and when he started again, Ron knows with full confidence he wouldn't be able to.

_They're in love with each other._

The fact slams into Ron like a train gone off the rails and he tugs Hermione until they're laying sideways on her too large couch, arms and legs entwined.

"Bedroom." Hermione pants when they pause for breath. Ron nods.

They're not stupid (or at least- she's not. Ron's not sure the same can be said for himself.) They know what they're doing. They're adults now, he reasons. And sure, maybe it's spontaneous, maybe it's a spur of the moment decision but in that moment Ron can't really bring himself to give a damn.

They have sex.

Ron trails kisses over her body like he's committing every part of her to memory, travelling through foreign lands and creating a map in his mind. (Only Hermione's body isn't foreign to him; Hermione's body feels sort of like a treasured place from his childhood that he hasn't visited in years.)

Hermione runs her hand through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back, like she's trying to feel every curve and contour of his body- shape and size and texture and weight, her fingers explore his flesh with the nimble expertise that only she possesses.

It's familiar, but it's different at the same time. He knows, distantly, that this won't change anything, but that thought is pushed to the side. For now, it doesn't matter.

For now, all that matters is Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. Her name on his lips, her body next to his, their movements in sync and in time, together at last.

All that matters is this moment, and this time, and this feeling.

Ron clings on to the moment, and hopes that it will be enough.

 

* * *

 

"I'm still leaving, you know." Hermione says, quietly, laid soft in the afterglow.

"I know." Ron whispers back, because he does.

His heart sinks, but he knows it's the truth. Nothing was ever going to make Hermione stay, and it'd be unrealistic of him to expect otherwise.

"I'm glad this happened." Hermione continues in that same barely speaking volume. "I just want you to know that I don't regret this, and I'm glad we had this."

Ron trails a hand down the cool curve of her back, lets his fingers dance over the freckles on her shoulders. "Me too." he says eventually, sincerely, softly.

Hermione nods, but her eyes look far sadder than her smile conveys, and Ron's heart might just be breaking all over again.

"I love you." he says, because it's true, and because there's no point in denying it anymore.

"I know." Hermione whispers back, "I love you too. And maybe- when I get back- maybe we can try being in love again."

It's a tentative suggestion, spoken in complete secrecy within the cool winds of the morning. It's not life-changing or earth-shattering, as Ron expected. It's quiet, and warm, and he clasps her hand as he leans in to touch their lips together.

"Yeah," Ron says, the words spoken into the gentle space between them. "We can."

"Promise?" Hermione asks.

Ron squeezes her hand and musters up a smile. "Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I apologise for the ending, I think it's hopeful enough to classify as a bittersweet kind of 'happy' because that's what I was aiming for! Secondly, thank you so much for reading! Please remember to leave comments/kudos if you liked it, this story has been a continuous WIP state since 2015 so it feels really good to finally have it all finished, and I'd love to hear what you thought!
> 
> Songs that inspired this chapter: 21 Guns by Green Day and The Last Time by Taylor Swift. 
> 
> Thank you so much for staying with me until the end, dear reader! If you want to chat about this fic or HP in general I can be found on tumblr at [ronaldswheezy](http://www.ronaldswheezy.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate any feedback anyone has to offer- particularly if people are interested in reading more, because that means I'm going to be writing/editing more quickly! 
> 
> The title is from Ed Sheeran's 'Friends' which is very sad and poignant and moving and I definitely recommend listening to it, it's basically the inspiration, basis, and soundtrack for this fic :''')


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